


Untitled

by alittlecreeper



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 16:53:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7692256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlecreeper/pseuds/alittlecreeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My take on Bran and Meera's storyline, starting from the Season Six finale "Winds of Winter."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fanfic, so I apologize for strange formatting, wording and all that. This first chapter is basically Bran and Meera's scene from the Season Six finale "Winds of Winter" written from Bran's point of view. I wanted to get into his head in a way the show failed to.

"I wish you both good fortune."

And with those words and a weighty glance back and forth at Bran and Meera, Benjen slowly rode away on his horse, leaving the two alone underneath the Weirwood tree and nearly half a mile from the Wall without any transportation. In fact, this problem was the last thing on Bran's mind as he turned away from Benjen's retreating form and let his eyes fall upon Meera who stood next to him.

_Meera._

His sole remaining companion now. Jojen, Leaf, the Three-Eyed Raven, Summer, Hodor, all of them dead and gone because of him. Jojen for following him on his journey and the rest at the cave. Bran felt shame and guilt wash over him anew as the memories of that night flooded back in. It wasn't often he allowed himself to feel the weight of his mistake, the innocent curiosity which led to the deaths of nearly everyone in the cave, but it sat heavy in his chest now. All he could do now was to honor their memories by honing his abilities and doing his very best in the war to come.

Bran studied Meera's face, something he found himself often doing lately, and wondered what she was thinking at that moment. Neither had spoken to the other about anything that had happened at the cave and after.

After the cave, Meera had dragged him through the snow for gods knew how long, all just to save his life. She had shielded him and protected him even in those last moments when all hope felt lost. From the moment they met she was always protecting him and taking care of him, and despite losing her brother Jojen, she never wavered. Meera was selfless and strong and always there, and Bran found it difficult to imagine being without her in his life. Truthfully, he was afraid to lose her, but it wasn't just the thought of losing another companion or the thought of being alone that put fear into his heart. He cared about her yes, but there was something else which he couldn't quite place.

The sound of Meera's small sighs broke Bran from his thoughts, and he found himself face to face with her now, her face framed by her curly hair and her gaze on him steady, as steady as she was in everything she did. He held it for a moment, so many words passing between them unspoken. He couldn't help but feel awkward being caught staring at her, so he heaved a small sigh of his own and slowly shifted his attention away from her to the face carved into the bark of the Weirwood tree. Bran knew Uncle Benjen had dropped them off here for a reason, he knew he had to try again, to get it right from now on. There was no room for error or for childish folly.

Bran rolled onto his stomach then, dragging himself through the snow closer to the Weirwood and grunting with the effort, mentally cursing his useless broken legs. He could sense Meera moving closer next to him, no doubt to come to his aid. She always did so without complaint and without making him feel like any less of a person. Despite that, Bran felt ashamed all the same by how much he had to rely on her. He was a man now, but felt helpless and weak like a baby, his only escape coming in the form of his visions or warging into the body of his direwolf Summer. Bran had never felt more powerful, more strong or more virile than he did while running, jumping, hunting and roaming in Summer's skin, but that was never to be again.

Bran's left arm instinctively wrapped around Meera's shoulder as she knelt in the snow next to him and helped him closer to the tree, both of them grunting from the exertion. If it was this hard to move a few inches, Bran couldn't imagine how they were ever going to get to the Wall, and he wished very much his uncle had left them the horse at least.

Once settled at the base of the Weirwood with Meera next to him, Bran studied the face for but a moment before reaching his hand up to touch it. And then suddenly, unexpectedly, there was Meera, her hand clasping his wrist firmly but gently to hold him back. "Are you... sure you're ready for this?" Meera asked him in a whisper.

Bran was silent at first, taken aback, his gaze falling between himself and Meera, transfixed by the sight and feel of her hand against his skin. Despite the freezing cold, the contact had sent a rush of unexpected warmth throughout Bran's body, and he was reminded of the moments just before Uncle Benjen's rescue, when death loomed in the form of a mob of wights and Meera's hands were in his hair and on his face. She had practically thrown herself on top of him then, holding him tightly. Her touch and embrace had not only given him the strength to face whatever came next but also offered comfort and warmth. Bran remembered returning the embrace and wrapping his hand around the back of her head, while feeling strangely serene as the wights had closed in around them.

Finally, Bran's eyes lifted to meet Meera's. She had been looking at him, and he could recognize the concern and worry straining her features. Sometimes he found it hard to believe just how much this young woman cared for him, but knowing she did tugged at something inside him, it made him feel brave and strong and warm and whole instead of only feeling like Brandon the Broken.

"I'm the Three-Eyed Raven now. I have to be ready for this," Bran finally said in reply, and with that he reached again for the face carved into the Weirwood, his eyes never once leaving Meera's.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter pretty much picks up from the first. A lot of it's in Meera's point of view, but it shifts around later.

Like so many times before, Meera watched as Bran slipped into his visions, her face fraught with concern and trepidation but even more so than usual. His eyes, the very same which had been looking intensely into her own just seconds ago, were now white and lost to consciousness. Bran was lost to her, although for how long she could only guess. While she always worried for Bran's well-being in general and whenever he warged into Summer or skinchanged with Weirwood trees to enter visions, this would be the first time since the cave incident that he would enter them alone.

The memory of that night, of the losses and the near-death experience she and Bran had shared, put a lump in Meera's throat. Ever since then, Bran had seemed strangely stoic, and Meera wondered what he was thinking and feeling, if he was hurting. Meera couldn't even begin to imagine how he felt, destined for greatness from the moment he was born and crucial in the war to come against the Night King according to Benjen. Her brother Jojen, who she still missed dearly, had known too and given his life for it. Meera knew she would do the same if she had to in order to protect Bran.

So when Meera had questioned Bran, his answer of, _I have to be ready for this_ , didn't exactly do anything to put her mind at ease, and it was with reluctance that she had allowed him to slip free from her grasp and press his palm against the face carved into the Weirwood. Even now in the cold, Meera could still feel the warmth of Bran's skin on her fingers, but she didn't allow herself to ruminate on this thought for long, and soon her focus turned to the situation at hand.

Meera sighed heavily and shifted in the snow next to Bran, pressing her back up against the trunk of the Weirwood as she took in their surroundings. They had neither the safety of the cave nor Benjen to rely on, the latter of which had dumped them off at the Weirwood, and now they were stranded there without any way of realistically getting to the Wall. She'd have to build a fire, find them a hot meal for dinner, but most importantly figure out a way to travel with Bran at first light so they could find safety behind the Wall with the Night's Watch. Benjen had taken Bran and Meera far from the Night King and his army of the undead, but how long was it before they caught up? The thought made Meera shiver.

Meera's gaze shifted then to Bran's form next to her in the snow, watching him—as she often did while he was away with the (former) Three-Eyed Raven and they were still back in the safety and calm of the cave—and noticing minute details like the fluttering of his eyelids and lashes under his strong eyebrows, the slight parting of his full lips and the twitching of his long and slender fingers.

Did Benjen expect her to carry this boy— _this man_ , she mentally corrected herself thinking it a more appropriate word to describe him now—the rest of the way to the Wall? He was heavier than she, and were he able to stand, Meera expected that he would tower over her. There was just no way. Perhaps she could make a simple sledge, though that would only delay them even further. There was another option, however, and it involved Bran warging into one of the deer or elk that could be found north of the wall. Meera decided she would run the idea past Bran once he woke up. For now she would start gathering wood for the fire.

Leveraging herself with one hand on the Weirwood, Meera got to her feet and set out to grab all the sticks and branches she could find scattered around the forest floor, never straying far from Bran and looking over at him every so often. Once she had enough gathered and the fire was made, Meera stood next to it warming her hands, her eyes on Bran as she thought about her next move. She needed to hunt for their supper before nightfall, though she wasn't about to leave him there unattended. Instead she would wait for him to wake up and then go. 

After a couple more moments spent rubbing her hands together in front of the fire, Meera approached Bran to check on him and knelt down next to him in the snow. Meera wished he would wake. She wanted supper, she wanted his company, she wanted to know that everything was all right, well, as all right as things could be considering.

Placing a hand against the side of his head, Meera's thumb brushed gently against his cold cheekbone. She studied his face. Bran grown into quite the handsome young man, and Meera imagined—if things had gone differently and he hadn't had to flee Winterfell—that he'd be very popular among the noble Ladies, that noble Lords would've come from all over with offers of marriage to their daughters, perhaps even her own father Howland among them. The idea of ever being betrothed to Bran gave her a strange, yet not unpleasant feeling. Part of her couldn't help but wonder if he was still able to father heirs, but she pushed these thoughts aside as soon as they came. She needed to focus.

_Wake up, Bran, please_ , Meera pleaded silently, and, almost as if he had heard her very thoughts, she found herself looking into Bran's dazed eyes.

"Meera?" he softly questioned, blinking slowly as Meera's face, always a welcome and familiar sight, came into focus. It seemed that waking up like this, waking up to Meera looking down on him and her hand on his face, was starting to become a common occurrence. There could be worse ways to wake up, Bran decided.

"Bran, you're awake," he heard her say, the relief evident in her voice. "I was worried..." she trailed off for a moment, then seeming to realize her hand was still cupping the side of his face, Meera quickly drew it away. Bran found he missed the warmth of it. 

"So," Meera hesitated, "did everything go all right?"

Bran knew she wasn't fishing for details about his vision—a vision which he was still reeling from—and her question made his heart sink in his chest, but he knew the time was as perfect as any to finally talk to her about that night at the cave. There was no use putting off what was long overdue, no use torturing himself over it every night in his head while holding a brave face day by day. Truthfully, the events of that night were eating him alive.

"Yes," Bran finally answered vaguely, using his arms to push himself into a sitting position against the Weirwood. "But you needn't worry, Meera," he hesitated as he scrambled to find the right words, which then finally came pouring out almost of their own accord in a voice filled with grief, "I won't let what happened ever happen again. I won't let anyone else die for me, Meera."

Here he hesitated again, a pained expression on his face, and Bran found he couldn't look her in the eye for the shame and guilt he felt. His eyes were focused on the flames licking at the branches in the fire. "I won't let _you_ die for me," he said quietly then fell silent. He couldn't lose her, just couldn't bear the thought.

The lack of eye contact wasn't lost on Meera and she could feel her chest tightening with emotion, she wanted to reach out for Bran, to hug him and hold him, to do something, anything at all to make him feel better, to ease the guilt he was carrying around with him ever since that night. She couldn't stand to see this young man she cared so much about hurting like this. 

"Bran, look at me," and when he didn't Meera took his hand in her own, letting her thumb brush slowly up and down along his slender and long digits as she looked at his face. The gesture was incredibly intimate and affectionate, though Meera didn't care because something about it just felt right. "Please, don't do this to yourself, Bran, don't blame yourself. We all knew the risks involved in coming with you and we were willing to come anyway. I know the risks involved and I promise never to leave your side. If we lose you, we lose everything, remember? The world needs you, Brandon Stark. _I_ need you."

The physical contact Meera initiated with Bran caught him entirely off his guard, and his skin erupted in warm tingles every time her thumb grazed over his fingers. Even though he'd also been caught unawares earlier when Meera had taken hold of his wrist to prevent him from skinchanging with the Weirwood, this wasn't like then, not even remotely close. Bran couldn't remember Meera ever touching him like this before. It didn't feel like the touch of a sister, mother or even a friend, it felt so intimate, romantic even, made even more so by her words— _I need you_ , she'd said—which kept repeating over and over in his head. Of course, Bran had no experience in such matters, but he was strongly reminded of the way his parents were together, always so loving and affectionate with one another.

Bran turned away from the fire and stared down between himself and Meera, mesmerized as he watched her thumb slowly caressing his fingers. He could feel her gaze on him, intense and unyielding, could feel the heat rising in his numb cheeks and his heart pounding in his chest. Bran never imagined their conversation going this way, and he felt a mixture of emotions, confusion and excitement, not to mention he felt, well, better. All because of Meera, though she often had that effect on him. Although Jojen's death had dimmed her light a bit, she was one of the brightest sources of happiness and positivity in Bran's life ever since the day he met her. With Meera at his side Bran felt much stronger than what he really was.

"Meera..." he said suddenly, tearing his eyes away from their joined hands to look in her eyes. _I need you too_ , Bran wanted to blurt out but the words immediately caught in his throat. What was the context of those words now? What was the meaning of hers? What did he have to offer her that she might need, as broken and helpless as he was, and most importantly, how was he supposed to figure all of this out when she was looking back at him so intently?

With these questions and a thousand more racing through his head, Bran finally found the courage to continue speaking. "Meera," he repeated, her name falling soft and naturally from his lips, "I don't understand..." 

Meera's expression grew puzzled, her brow furrowing, and she ceased stroking Bran's fingers but didn't let go of his hand. "Don't understand what, Bran?"

"Why you need me, Meera. I mean, look at me, how and why could you possibly need me?" he asked her, gesturing to his legs with his free hand as he went on, "I'm the one who needs you, Meera, and not only because I'm broken. You're all I have. I'd be dead if it weren't for you, I'd be lost without you."

Bran hesitated, feeling unsure of himself, because he knew everything he was saying made it blatantly obvious the feelings that were taking root in him, the feelings he was only just beginning to recognize for what they were. Yes, he couldn't handle the thought of something ever happening to her and couldn't imagine life without her, but his feelings ran even deeper than that.

"There's something else too, Meera," he sighed, "though I haven't any idea how to explain it, I've never felt it before."

Meera smiled at him playfully. "Bit ironic isn't it, Bran? Aren't you supposed to know everything?" she gently teased him. "You are the Three-Eyed Raven after all."

Bran couldn't help but grin a little at her in return, his first real smile in a long while. Meera's smiles were always infectious, and Bran loved how they lit up her entire face. It'd been a long time since he'd seen that lovely smile of hers, and he realized then just how much he'd missed seeing it.

"Forgive me, Meera, but this wasn't exactly part of the Three-Eyed Raven curriculum," Bran joked sarcastically though not unkindly. "Anyway," he began, trying to deflect from that part of the conversation, "you still need to answer my question."

"As you wish, my Lord," Meera replied, still teasing him. She could see him trying to hold back a smile at her comment. Truthfully, Meera wasn't sure how to answer him, so she was trying to keep things light. Deep down she could feel that their relationship was changing, and so many small details that she had brushed aside before now were beginning to make much more sense.

"Well, Bran," she began, "you're all I have now too, for all I know my father may not even be alive. But you're here and I'm here, we're here together, we've been through so much together. You're my companion, my friend, and I need you, Bran. Whether you can walk or not doesn't matter one bloody bit, I need you all the same." She took a deep breath, her fingers trailing along his. "You know, you're not the only one of us who is confused about this, Bran. I've realized I need you more than I can understand or explain."

Bran's heart was racing wildly now and his skin tingled even more than earlier if it were possible. He found he couldn't look away from Meera as she spoke, and his eyes scanned her face. Upon reaching her lips, Bran felt the strongest urge to lean in and kiss them, to taste them, but he resisted.

"Meera, I don't even know what to say," was all he managed to get out in reply.

"It's okay," Meera told him with a smile, "we'll talk about this another time. For now I need to hunt us up some supper before nightfall." She'd nearly forgotten after everything they'd discussed. Reluctantly she let go of Bran's hand, then stood and walked to the fire to stoke it. She returned to his side moments later to hand him a spare dagger she was carrying, her fingers purposely brushing against his in the process, and her stomach gave a little flip. They'd touched countless times before, most often out of necessity because of his condition, but given recent circumstances, touching him felt different now, and she found herself wanting to touch him.

"I'll be back soon and won't go far. Stay safe, Bran." Meera hated having to leave him alone, but they both needed to eat, so off she went.

About ten minutes had passed before Meera returned—both of them relieved to see that the other was okay—with a rabbit in hand, which she set to work skinning and cooking. As the sky darkened, the two of them finished the rabbit in relative silence underneath the Weirwood, only sharing glances at each other, though even without words the air around them felt charged from the shift in their relationship.

Meera broke the silence but she was all business—well, mostly. "Bran, we need to get to Castle Black tomorrow, and while I might be strong, I can't carry you," she looked him up and down, "you're a man now."

Bran swallowed, feeling nervous under her lingering gaze, but kept his voice steady as he spoke, "What would you like to do then?" by now it was completely dark out save for the light from the fire, and he could see the flames reflecting and flickering in Meera's eyes.

"I was thinking I could either make a sledge, which would delay us quite a bit, or you could warg into an elk or another animal we could ride. It's entirely up to you, Bran—and if we're able to find an animal."

"Warging it is then," Bran decided, clearly excited by the prospect. "I'll find us something suitable to ride, don't worry."

Meera thought it rather endearing how his face lit up, and she was happy he would get a chance to run and be free for at least a little while. He deserved it. "Good," she said, offering him a smile in return. "As for right now, you and I need to rest up for tomorrow."

Bran nodded and started trying to get comfortable. He laid back against the Weirwood, and Meera scooted closer to him in the snow until she was pressed up against Bran's side, her arm wrapping around him. Their faces were incredibly close.

"What are you doing, Meera?" he quickly asked.

"What do you think I'm doing?" The question was whispered into his ear.

"I don't know," Bran whispered back, although he had no trouble imagining various possibilities in his head. It didn't help that Meera's breath was hot against his ear and neck, causing a thrilling new round of tingles and sensations to course through the parts of his body he still had feeling in.

"I'm trying to get warm," she explained, a laugh in her voice. 

"Oh."

"Don't sound so disappointed," Meera teased. Truthfully, she was quite curious about what sorts of things were going through Bran's mind, but now wasn't the right time to find out. "Anyway, let's get some sleep, Bran. And one more thing—" her voice turned into a soft whisper in his ear once again, "will you keep me warm tonight?" She could feel him shiver and hoped it wasn't just from the cold.

_Gods..._ Bran thought to himself, his urge to kiss Meera renewed with vigor. He could feel color coming to his cheeks and was glad for the dark because he didn't want her to see him blushing like a little maiden. She'd called him a man, he needed to act like one.

Bran inhaled, turning his face slightly so that he was facing Meera, his lips at her ear this time. "It would be my pleasure, Lady Reed," he whispered, his arm slipping around her and tugging her even closer. Her curly hair tickled at his cheek and neck. Even with all the layers, it felt perfect having Meera so close.

Meera rested her head against Bran's shoulder, nuzzling her face into Bran's neck and sighing with contentment. It felt so warm and safe in his arms—although she made sure one hand was on her dagger all the same. She knew sleep would be upon her soon. "Good night, Bran."

"Night, Meera," he whispered back, resting his head on top of hers and closing his eyes.


End file.
